


Loaves and Fishes

by Rosawyn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asthma, Bible, Bucky Angst, Chronic Illness, Cold Weather, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Literal Sleeping Together, Platonic Cuddling, Poverty, Prayer, Pre-Canon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Religion, Sharing a Bed, gender equality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve are struggling to get by; it's hard, especially with Steve's health.  Or maybe especially with his stubbornness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loaves and Fishes

The air in the tiny bedroom nipped at Bucky's ears—and everywhere else it could reach—as he got ready for bed. His toes inside his thin socks on the unforgiving floor ached for him to turn up the heat, but he couldn't even turn it on. It was always stupidly hard to choose between which of the things they needed that they could do without, but there was never enough money. And Steve always pretended to be healthier than he really was, so it was harder to tell when he really did need a doctor. At least they'd been able to make rent—that was always the most important, especially with winter coming on. What was the alternative, anyway? A box under a bridge and an old barrel to burn garbage and warm your hands? Bucky could do it, sure, but Steve wouldn't last a week. That wasn't a battle he could win with sheer, stupid determination.

Even with a real roof over their heads and real walls to keep out the wind, Steve's health was a constant concern. And Steve had _really_ needed a doctor last week. He'd tried to argue, but he'd barely been able to talk for the wheezing. Bucky had thought there would still be enough money to pay the heating bill, but sums had never been his strongest subject and they'd come up just a bit short, and of course 'just a bit short' didn't mean you got to turn your heat on a bit lower than usual, it meant you got cut right off until you could pay the whole damn thing. Never mind that Steve's asthma was aggravated by the cold, so they'd need a doctor again sooner this way. It was a bit like being stuck in quicksand in those movies; the more you struggled, the worse it got. Sighing, Bucky ran numb fingers over his chilled face. Best get into bed; at least the blankets would keep him from getting any colder.

Bucky felt Steve shiver as he climbed into his own side of the bed even though he tried to lift the covers as little as possible so less cold air would get in. They always talked about whose 'side' was whose, but the bed was only meant for one person, so there was no way to both be in it without touching anyway. “You okay, Steve?”

“Yeah.” Steve shifted closer as Bucky settled, both men trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. “'M just a bit cold is all.”

Sighing, Bucky wrapped a protective arm around Steve, pulling him tighter against his chest. “I know.” After a pause he added, “I thought you'd be asleep already.” Bucky had managed to work an extra shift, covering for a guy who'd busted his hand, so he'd got home late. The guy would be out of work for a while, but everyone was clamouring for the extra hours, so Bucky couldn't expect to get another extra shift any time soon.

“I should be.” He felt Steve's narrow shoulders shrug. “But I just couldn't sleep—thinking about things, you know?”

Right... Sure, everyone had that sometimes, where they couldn't sleep because the brain wouldn't shut up, but with Steve it was more likely he couldn't sleep...because he couldn't _breathe_. Sometimes in the winter he'd need to be reclining at no less than forty-five degrees or he couldn't sleep at all, so then Bucky would have to sit up against the headboard and have Steve lean against his chest—it's not like they could just buy a few more pillows or anything with their non-existent money. Bucky's shoulders always hurt like hell in the morning, but it was nothing a few good stretches couldn't fix. And it sure beat not being able to breathe. Pulling the blanket up farther on Steve's shoulder, Bucky tucked it in closer around his neck. “Once I get my paycheck, we'll pay the heating bill.” It wasn't much of a consolation for now and all the nights until then, though. At least during the day Steve could go to the library—no one seemed to mind if he sat there for hours to read or sketch or whatever, and the library was heated.

“I guess.” Steve's voice sounded so...unenthusiastic about the idea of getting the heat back on.

“You guess?” Bucky gave Steve's shoulder a nudge. “Don't you wanna be warm, Steve?”

“'Course I do, Bucky.” As though to prove his point, Steve pulled Bucky's arm more securely around him and burrowed his face deeper into the thin pillow. “But we need money for food, too. Especially you; you work hard all day, and you can't do that without eating right.”

It was true; they did need food, and that more than anything was what suffered when there just wasn't enough money. Which was all the time, really. He nudged Steve's wiry calf under the blankets. “You need to eat, too, Steve.”

“I know.” Steve sighed. “I know.”

“Hey.” Bucky frowned slightly, struck by a sudden idea. “What about the church? They give food and stuff to people who need it, don't they?”

“That's supposed to be for kids, moms with babies, families,” Steve said, turning partway onto his back to look at Bucky over his shoulder. Bucky could make out Steve's small frown in the pale blue-grey light from the window.

“You mean they wouldn't give a single guy any if he asked?” Sure, it made sense to take care of the kids and mothers first, but what about guys like Steve? Should he just quietly starve because he was so sickly no one wanted to hire him?

Steve shrugged again. “I wouldn't feel right _asking_.”

“Then I'll ask,” Bucky decided. “I'll tell them I've got a sick kid brother.”

Steve grinned, the shadows stretching across his face making him look kinda ghoulish. He elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “Don't lie to the church, Bucky.”

“Wouldn't be a lie,” Bucky mumbled, pressing the cold tip of his nose into Steve's hair. It was warm and soft and smelled clean even though Steve was always so careful to use the littlest bit of soap to make the bar last longer.

Steve made an exasperated sound and turned back onto his side.

Bucky pressed his chest against Steve's thin back again. “You know that one time when Jesus gave all those people bread and fish?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered. “'Feeding the Five Thousand' is what the story's usually called.”

“Yeah, that one.” Bucky had heard the story often enough as a child, though Steve was the sort who'd probably read it directly from the Bible more than once. “Did he just give the food to the women and children?”

“No, Buck.” Steve sighed. “He gave it to everybody, and there was even some left over.”

“Right.” That's how Bucky had remembered it, but Steve would know better than him. “If you were there and Jesus himself was handing you a big ol' loaf of bread and a fish too, would you say, 'None for me, thanks'?”

“'Course not, Buck.” Steve let out an annoyed huff. “But that's different—it was a miracle; Jesus was multiplying the food. They only started out with five loaves and two fishes.”

That five loaves, two fish thing sounded familiar, actually, even though Bucky had spent more of his time in Sunday school trying get away with throwing things at the other students than actually paying attention. “And from that he fed five thousand people?”

“Five thousand _men_ ,” Steve corrected. “Plus women and children, but they didn't get included in the count for some reason.”

“Shit,” Bucky breathed. Steve elbowed him sharply in the ribs, so Bucky quickly added, “Sorry.” It was probably best to avoid profanity when talking about the Bible, after all. “But...you're telling me there could have easily been _ten_ thousand people...or even more?”

“Yeah, but...” Steve laughed softly, shaking his head. “I'm not sure it really matters much, Buck, if it's five or ten or twenty thousand when all you've got is five loaves and two fish.”

Bucky grinned, laughing softly as well. “Yeah, fine. Good point.” He took a breath. “But, you know...” He frowned, moving his hand on Steve's chest so he could feel Steve's heart beating. It was fast—too fast—but stubborn, insistent. The way it got when Steve wasn't quite getting enough air. “It seems to me that we could use a few more miracles.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed, small body relaxing in Bucky's arms. His heartbeat even felt a bit less like it was some sort of four legged animal struggling along through snow up to its chest with one broken leg. So, a bit more relaxed too. “Yeah; we could, Buck.”

After a moment, Bucky continued, “But anyway...” He'd been going somewhere with this whole bread and fish thing. “It doesn't seem to me that Jesus judges men less worthy just because they're men, Steve. He gave food to every one of those five thousand men, right? Just gave it to them for free, and they didn't even have to work for it.”

“Yeah, but...” Groaning, Steve rolled fully onto his back, resting one wiry arm across his forehead. “Men are supposed to work, to provide for their families as well as themselves. Not just go asking for handouts.”

“That in the Bible?” Steve would know, after all.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve quirked an eyebrow at him from under his forearm. “Even right in the beginning, Adam is told he's gotta work hard, 'by the sweat of his brow.' And there's lots of stuff in Proverbs about how it's bad to be lazy, to lay around in bed all day while other people work.”

“You'd work if anyone would give you a job,” Bucky countered. “We both know that. What the hell are people supposed to do when there just aren't enough jobs to go around?” Hell, if Steve had a job, _any_ job, they'd be okay. They'd even be able to pay for doctors so he could stay healthy most of the time. Maybe Steve couldn't do the kind of work Bucky did...but then again, maybe he _could_. The extra time Steve would take making sure he didn't keel over from bein' unable to force air into his lungs would be made up by the time he _wouldn't_ spend smoking or gabbing about dames or any of the other things Bucky's coworkers did to waste time. But you couldn't talk sense to these bosses—they knew they had all the power and they liked it just fine that way. It was like that one saying about power corrupting, but power also seemed to make them stupid. They wouldn't even need to hear a word about his health; they'd just take one look at Steve and their minds would be made up. And they'd never believe it if Bucky tried to tell them just how strong Steve really was.

“I don't know, Buck.” Steve's voice sounded so tired.

“Well, I know what I'm going to do,” Bucky said, resolved. “Soon as I get paid, I'm going to pay the heating, and then when we run out of food, I'm going to go straight to the church and see if they've got any to spare for a hardworking guy and his sick kid brother. And if they've got any and I bring that food home, you're going to eat it, otherwise I'll get real sore at you until you do.” He shot Steve a steadfast glare, hoping he'd see it in the dim light. “I gotta take care of my own family, you know.”

Steve turned onto his side facing him. “I ain't your family, Bucky.”

“'Course you are.” Bucky pulled Steve against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You're the only family I've got.”

Bucky was the only family Steve had too; he didn't have anyone else to take care of him. Didn't have anyone else he'd _let_ take care of him. Because Steve didn't want to be one of those five thousand men; he wanted to be _Jesus_ in that story—but for all that he was unfailingly good and wonderfully kind and undoubtedly _generous_ , no one seemed to want what he had to give. No one but Bucky, anyway.

Bucky wasn't much like Steve, so he didn't often bother praying, but that night he did: as he held Steve close to keep him warm and listened to Steve's breathing to make sure it stayed regular, Bucky silently prayed for a miracle.

 

**Author's Note:**

> On the chance of enhancing/ruining your enjoyment of this fic, I might as well go ahead and admit that it was in part and unintentionally inspired by the song “Somewhere Down the Road” by Faith Hill from The Prince of Egypt (Nashville) soundtrack album.


End file.
